


Exhaling

by Kendolly (JewelShards)



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Kimishita is a sweetheart, M/M, Romance, and Ooshiba needs a hug, vague suicidal feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9662819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JewelShards/pseuds/Kendolly
Summary: The homework tonight is hard.Ooshiba’s stomach felt empty and cold and if his lungs were stinging from lack of oxygen, he couldn’t feel it. Lately, he’s been looking like a mosaic – nice from a distance but shitty up close. Ugly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't feel like reading over this towards the end so if there are grammar mistakes, that's my bad. I'll probably proofread it later on this week and fix things.

The homework tonight is hard.

Ooshiba’s stomach felt empty and cold and if his lungs were stinging from lack of oxygen, he couldn’t feel it. Lately, he’s been looking like a mosaic – nice from a distance but shitty up close. Ugly. Ooshiba sucked in a deep breath of air, his chest rising to the occasion as he listened to the rough scratch of Kimishita’s pencil. A hard worker, Ooshiba thinks as he stares down at his own blank paper and the math book that’s been splayed open. It’s supposed to be easy enough. The whole purpose of taking Pre-Algebra was to set up the ‘building blocks’ for more advanced math courses that would eventually go towards his associates degree. An associates degree in general studies because he’s indecisive and easily overwhelmed. Ooshiba ran a tongue over his white molars, feelings the dips and ridges and the single silver cap way in the back. His father doesn’t think he’ll make it unless it’s through a national soccer team and he can’t even bring himself to be mad about it. Not really, because Ooshiba is not a man of many talents. He’s long-limbed, careless and a bit too stupid off the pitch to be a doctor or do anything else delicate.

Ooshiba always calls himself a hero because that was what he always wanted to be as a kid. He wanted to be the person others gaped at on the pitch. He wanted his teammates to talk about how he always saves the day and then give him pats on the back. And maybe he was at one point or another until he got accepted into University and the players were better and the field was bigger and his stamina was great but never enough to stay in an entire game. His captain had told him that if it weren’t for the fact that he was an excellent player for the short time he lasted, he’d be a bench player. That alone wouldn’t have bothered Ooshiba except for the fact that he’d been there when Coach was reading the starting line-up one humid summer morning. He’d been there when Coach benched players with better stamina but a lower skill set than Ooshiba and only seemed to call the ones who had above average stamina _and_ the most talent. But he’d also been there, practically gnawing through his tender knuckles when the coach shouted out his name. _Ooshiba Kiichi!_ And his teammates spared him glances out the corner of their eyes because _they knew_ he was lucky. That the only thing that saved him from being benched was the fact that he was amazing up to the first whistle thus valuable for a short moment.

But being valuable for a moment wasn’t enough for him like it had been in high school. It hurt to think about and it made him double up his training – triple it even. He ran more now. He ran when he was bored. He ran when he was tired. He ran until his knees creaked and his sneakers dragged against the grass and concrete. He ran until his lungs ached, his heart exploded and sweat burned through his eyes. But the results of his labor weren’t showing hardly at all. It was frustrating and stressful and made him feel even more inept at life than he apparently already was. He couldn’t get his stamina up to become a more valuable player. He wasn’t able to be a hero. Ooshiba’s heart felt like it was crawling around in his ribcage. It was probably trying to escape. Ooshiba shifted in his seat and pressed hard, dark lines onto his scratch paper as he tried to work out one particularly difficult problem for the umpteenth time in thirty minutes. He wouldn’t ask Kimishita for help, he stopped doing that about a week ago, and because of that, he’s learned not to solve math problems on the notebook paper that needed to be turned in. He’s _great_ at making mistakes but he tries not to think about it when the playlist he set up on his laptop suddenly switches to a new track and this time it’s a song Kimishita picked out a long time ago. This was their study music. The beat was soft and Ooshiba wanted to bury himself in it.

“Are you going to actually do some work or just sit there all day?”

Ooshiba blinked his daydreams away and when he looked over, Kimishita’s face was drawn tight in annoyance – the pencil he’d been listening to earlier rolled on the table and that’s when Ooshiba realized that Kimishita had probably been broken out of his concentration because of his staring off and daydreaming. He felt like he was shrinking under the weight of Kimishita’s glare which is new – these things don’t usually affect him.

“No” Is all he manages but it’s honest so he hopes that’s enough.

Kimishita’s eye twitches. ‘Which one?!” He snaps, blood vessels practically popping over his forehead.

He breaths nice and deep and covers his chest with his palm to try and coax his heart to calm down. It was still running around. Ooshiba lets the sentence he’d been thinking over for days finally tumble out of his mouth and if he scrapes his knees when he stumbles over his words, he doesn’t feel it.

“Kill me.”

He’s gray, like the sky outside, and his eyes are murky. He thinks that their room is duller than it usually is. Heroes didn’t kill themselves but sometimes they died at the hands of others and Ooshiba thinks that if anyone were to kill him, he’d rather it be by someone he loves – by someone who knows him all the way down to his bones.

“W-What?”

It’s one of the few times he’s heard Kimishita stutter but he can’t bring himself to point this out or laugh about it. He can’t even look at the brunette so he focuses on his notebook paper instead. It’s still clean, just as blank as his face and he decides that he wants to keep that look so he doesn’t even startle when his chair is suddenly being dragged back (with some effort) and his blue socked feet glide over the wood floor. He can’t see the paper anymore because now Kimishita is there between his knees and blocking the desk.

“What did you just say?”

Kimishita’s voice sounds strained and there’s something else laced inside that Ooshiba can’t quite figure out. He wants to ask what’s wrong. He wants to ask because he’s said this same thing countless times when he was going bored out of his mind with homework. _Atsushi, kill me now._ But maybe it was the odd inflection in his voice that made this time seem different. Ooshiba wants to brush it off and laugh. To throw a smirk at the other and tease him for getting so worked up.

It doesn’t happen.

“So … you’re gonna kill me?” Ooshiba asks instead because it’s like he can’t do anything else but simply roll with the ball he set in motion.

Kimishita blinks once then twice, eyes wide both times.

“I-I’m not … I’m not going to … _Kiichi_. Is this a fucking joke?”

Suddenly, he feels bad. They weren’t supposed to break for another forty-five minutes and Kimishita actually has a difficult chemistry test to study for unlike himself with his algebra and biology 101. He hears something then – something akin to a gasp and a grunt – but it’s so short Ooshiba has to wonder if he actually heard anything. His knuckles ache, he realizes, and when he looks away from the window he notices the way Kimishita’s hands are gripping firmly onto his own.

“Kiichi, look at me.”

Kimishita’s heart must be crawling around too because he looks uncomfortable. Ooshiba’s expecting to get cursed out with a light punch to the shoulder. He’s expecting an exasperated sigh, to be called ridiculous and stupid because that’s essentially what he’s always been. But he gets none of that. Shame is certainly present but curiosity east away at him the most. It’s what makes him look up into dark green eyes and they’re full of worry but maybe that’s anger at the sheer _audacity_. He’s gotten these things wrong before.

Kimishita grabs his chin and Ooshiba wants to dig a hole and rot in it. Maybe it was written all over his face or perhaps Kimishita just knows his bones even better than Ooshiba imagined because at that moment something in the air changes. The shorter male’s face is pale and stricken and Ooshiba knows he caused it.

This is not a joke.

“What are you _saying_?” Kimishita asks, no, begs for an answer that Ooshiba doesn’t think he’s ready to give. “Are you … are you trying to tell me … that you want to die?”

And he doesn’t want to be looked at anymore. Ooshiba’s legs are thrumming with energy and the last time his chest hurt this much was when he was small and his new puppy had died of seizures. His leg muscles were coiled tight that day too. But he knows wherever he runs, Kimishita will catch up because the brunette may not play soccer anymore but he’s still a bit faster, still has better stamina. It’s a direct result of the very work ethic and discipline Ooshiba would sell his soul to have. So, he stays.

“Your voice” Kimishita’s speech is hard, strained. “Use your voice.” He clarifies.

Ooshiba begins to wonder what his own voice box looks like. He wonders if it’s shriveled up and tired from all the years he’s boasted about himself and if it’s finally decided to give out on him now, in this moment. He inhales and exhales particles but the gray sticks to his lungs like tar. It aches. Then when Kimishita’s hands reach up and run through his hair and make purchase on his broad shoulders, he swears he can feel his pupils dilating. It makes his insides seize and he’s brought back into the moment. Wait, does he actually want to die?

“I don’t know.” He admits to himself and Kimishita because he hasn’t thought this far. That was Kimishita’s job to be the one always thinking ahead of the moment. And it should be enough for him not to know because Kimishita has tests to study for and grades to keep. He has more important things to do and it’s better than a ‘yes’.

“What the _hell_?” Kimishita looks as torn and confused as he sounds and he emphasizes the last bit, dragging it out like a new word.

It seems like the beginning of an argument he doesn’t have the energy for. He stays quiet.

“Kiichi, you _don’t_.”

He’s doing it again – emphasizing, and Ooshiba has to blink back tears because he thinks he can feel it pooling around his eyes. It’s thick, hot and liquid and it’s already seeping from the largest corners. _You don’t._

Kimishita makes an odd noise – something like a whimper and a huff glued together.

“Tell me you _don’t_.”

Ooshiba’s left knee aches a steady thrum directly below the kneecap and he rubs the spot with his fingers, tries to soothe the inflammation. One of the consequences of distance running.

“What’s wrong with your knee?” Kimishita sniffs and sits back on his haunches.

Ooshiba is thrown off. Internally jostled by the new line of questioning but still, he exhales and the muscles in his back soften. This is something he can talk about.

“Coach says it’s inflammation.” Ooshiba supplies. “From my new training regimen.”

He doesn’t really expect Kimishita to do anything but click his tongue and roll his eyes so he’s shocked, thrown for a fucking loop when the brunette leans down and firmly presses his thin lips to it. When Kimishita’s fingers fan out over his aching knee, Ooshiba feels his entire face heat up and his eyes widen to the point where his eyelashes could probably brush his forehead and he wouldn’t be surprised. Kimishita has never been the type to kiss it and make it better and he’s only ever this gentle with his equipment.

“… Is it because of me?” Kimishita asks and he suddenly looks so downcast, it makes Ooshiba’s heart ache. “Kiichi?” His voice is low, cracking is places and ways Ooshiba has never heard before. Kimishita clears his throat and swallows, face tight. “Have I been pushing you too hard?”

There’ something about the whole scene that stirs up something small within Ooshiba’s mind. It’s persistent in the way it claws the center of his brain and it makes him finally, finally open his mouth.

“It’s not you.” And he means it. “I just …” Ooshiba blinks and he’s expecting it when familiar hot tears begin to prod at the back of his eyes and make them burn. It travels into his nasal cavity and down to the middle of his throat and makes a home there. It’s uncomfortable. He clenches his chest with long fingers and exhales. It _hurts_.

“It’s … It’s not that I want to die.” He realized around the blockage in his throat. “Maybe I’m –” Ooshiba breathes and suddenly his hand is carding through soft locks of brown hair. He doesn’t say anything after that but then again, he doesn’t need to because Kimishita has a knack for finding the missing pieces of his unfinished sentences.

“You’re good enough, Kiichi.”

Ooshiba jolts and stares down at green eyes that are boring holes into his. It’s been so long since he’s received anything but a backhanded compliment that he doesn’t know what to do with it. He doesn’t even know if he can believe it because how could he be good enough when he was ‘that close’ to being benched, when he can’t improve his run times and stamina. When he can’t get good grades or –

“ _Listen_ to me.” Kimishita hisses and finally stands, ignoring the way his legs must be protesting just so he can lean over and cup Ooshiba’s face in his hands. “I’m only gonna say this once because I don’t want to deal with your inflated head for weeks.”

His eyes are fierce and focused, Ooshiba notices as he closes his eyes and tries not to melt into the subtly increasing warmth covering his cheeks. He needs to pay attention.

“You’re beyond good enough, special, gifted and talented.” He rushes and Kimishita’s neck is flushed, lips pursed like he wants to say something more and Ooshiba is glad when he does. He’s glad. “So …” Kimishita releases a tiny, nervous frown. “So, let me help you. Tell me what’s going on.”

Ooshiba blinks when his heart begins to finally still but the wetness glazing his eyes persists. If he wasn’t so stubborn he would’ve cried by now from all the internal agony he was feeling earlier and the _relief,_ he was experiencing now. Ooshiba exhaled. He could feel the tar sloshing off his lungs now with every swipe of Kimishita’s thumbs along his cheekbones and the gray matter was leaving his body if only a little. He almost forgot he wasn’t alone. Forgot that Kimishita actually didn’t mind helping him and got pissed whenever he didn’t ask for it so Ooshiba didn’t need to pretend to not need help. It was alright that he didn’t immediately reply because the agreeance must have been written over his face with how Kimishita’s shoulders relaxed from their tightly drawn state and his hands slid along the muscled planes of Ooshiba’s arms. It was going to be okay. _We’ll get through this_ , it what the brunette seemed to say in silence and Ooshiba didn’t mind believing it.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I'm not super happy with this but at the same time, I am! This is my very first time writing for the Days fandom and Kimishita and Ooshiba were so hard to write. Hopefully, I'll get better writing them as I go. Anyway, Ooshiba is pretty immature (bless him) and strikes me as the type who has trouble identifying and handling his feelings when they get too complex. But I don't know, that's just me! I hope you liked this a little and pls comment, and leave kudos. Constructive criticism is always, always welcomed.


End file.
